


Marrying Mr Darcy: a Bridget Jones Fic

by eggsbenni221



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: F/M, Humor, References to Jane Austen, Romance, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsbenni221/pseuds/eggsbenni221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because we've all wondered what Mark and Bridget's wedding might look like. Just admit it. Post EOR film universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marrying Mr Darcy: a Bridget Jones Fic

**Author's Note:**

> while this story is set post EOR film, I've included a few references from the book universe as well; principally, I've kept Mark's mum's name as Elaine, even though she's referred to as Geraldine in the film universe. I much prefer Elaine.

Marrying Mr Darcy: a Bridget Jones Fic  
by Eggsbenni221  
Words: 5,079  
Rating: T  
Summary: Because we've all wondered what Mark and Bridget's wedding might look like. Just admit it. Post EOR film universe.

  
Disclaimer: not my characters. I've just kidnapped them for my own purposes.

Author's Note: while this story is set post EOR film, I've included a few references from the book universe as well; principally, I've kept Mark's mum's name as Elaine, even though she's referred to as Geraldine in the film universe. I much prefer Elaine.  
Also: for a note about guidelines on marrying outside one's own parish in the Church of England, see the links at the end.  
\---June, 2004---

Mark drummed his fingers on the steering-wheel and squinted into the morning sunlight flooding the car in a cheerful glow. The brightness of the day notwithstanding, Mark couldn't help observing, as he occasionally slid his eyes from the traffic on the M3, that Bridget sat scowling beside him, nibbling at a chocolate croissant and sipping from the cappuccino she had demanded she be allowed to bring for the road if he would insist on kidnapping her for a mysterious daytrip, particularly when said daytrip involved rising before 10.00 AM on a Friday that he had expressly instructed her to clear of any work commitments.  
"Why can't you tell me where we're going?" she pouted as Mark fiddled with the car's temperature controls, pretending not to have heard her. "Mark, I know you can hear me," persisted Bridget.  
"Of course I can hear you, Bridget," he replied. "I'm just choosing not to respond to your question, for reasons that will become clear to you in—" he glanced at his watch—"approximately forty-five minutes, if you can stand to be patient for that long." Even as he spoke the words, Mark smiled; his fiancé had many virtues, but it could not be said that patience was one of them.  
"If you had to drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn, the least you can do is tell me where you're taking me," she mumbled.  
"I'm planning to make it well worth your while, love, believe me," replied Mark. "But I believe my motivation in concealing our destination from you might have something to do with the fact that I intended it to be a surprise."  
"Why?" demanded Bridget, folding her arms and glaring at him.  
"I'm afraid that's all you're going to get out of me at the moment. Have you spoken to your mother since our visit last weekend?"  
"Don't change the subject on me, Mark Darcy," Bridget huffed. "And if you're going to change the subject to my mother, of all things, I might just give you the silent treatment till we get to… wherever the bloody Hell it is you're taking me. How would you like that?"  
"I think," said Mark, "that it sounds like the most sensible thing you've said all morning." With Bridget having made good on her decision to activate the silent treatment, Mark inevitably found himself reflecting on the events of the past several days, and in particular how much those events had solidified his decision to plunge into matrimony for the second and, what he firmly believed would be the last time.

\---Grafton Underwood, one week earlier---  
"Mum, how many times do I have to tell you? We haven't sat down and discussed it yet!" Bridget's raised voice greeted Mark as he entered the Joneses' kitchen to fetch another round of beers for the two fathers and himself, and he would have bet every last shilling to his name that he knew what conversation he had just walked in on. Bridget confirmed his suspicions when she added, "We're… just enjoying the engagement. Can't we just have a bit of time to, you know, bask in the newness of it?" Ever since Bridget had announced her engagement to Mark, Pam Jones had, not surprisingly, been pestering her daughter about the wedding arrangements.  
"Really, Bridget, be sensible. After all this time, you've finally got a man! You can't afford to drag your heels, you know. In my day—but you young people just have no sense of planning, and really, you might as well be married already, all cozied up together in that big house."  
Bridget sighed. "Mum, we've been over this a hundred times! It just made more sense if I—"  
"What do you think, Elaine?" interrupted Pam, turning to Mark's mother, who stood calmly tossing a salad at the work surface. Of the three women, she appeared the only one to have noticed his entrance. "After all," continued Pam, "our grandchildren aren't going to make themselves, you know. You aren't getting any younger, Bridget," she added, turning back to her daughter. "You can't afford to put things off much longer, and I’m sure Mark would—" At this point, Mark, interpreting a wink from his mother, decided to make his presence known with a discrete cough.  
"Oh my godfathers!" exclaimed Pam, jumping at the interruption. "Mark! Heavens, you gave me such a start! I didn't realize you—we were just…"  
"My apologies for the interruption, ladies," said Mark, calming his flustered, future mother-in-law with his most charming smile. Elaine, meanwhile, had hurried over to Bridget, who had been so startled by Mark's appearance that she had managed to cut herself on a vegetable peeler.  
"Shit!" she exclaimed, examining the injury.  
"Language, Bridget!" admonished Pam with a furtive glance at Mark, who chuckled.  
"I've heard much worse, I can assure you," he said, crossing the kitchen to Bridget's side. "I'm sorry, darling," he murmured. "I take full responsibility. Come. Let's have a look." Cradling her hand in his, Mark studied the wound. "Hmm, this appears far worse than it is, I think," he concluded, tenderly pressing a dampened strip of kitchen roll to the cut and applying pressure. "Let's just get a plaster on that. Mother, would you be so kind?"  
"Absolutely." Elaine smiled. "I'll be back in a moment. You're in good hands," she said to Bridget. After she had disappeared and returned promptly as promised, Mark tended to Bridget's finger while Pam looked on with misty eyes. "There we are," he said at last, pressing a kiss to the back of Bridget's hand. "I think I'm just going to proscribe a numbing agent, as a precaution."  
"But you've already bandaged it," Bridget pointed out.  
"Fortunately you'll be taking this orally," replied Mark, handing her a glass of wine. "If that doesn't do the trick, nothing will."  
"Bridget," said Elaine, laying a hand on her arm, "since my son's skills as medical attendant don't seem to be required any further at present, I wonder if you might allow me to borrow him for a moment."  
"Oh, I—" Bridget hesitated, obviously reluctant to be left alone with her mother.  
"We won't be long, dear. I promise. Mark?" Ever the obedient son, Mark followed Elaine from the kitchen after giving Bridget's hand a reassuring squeeze. Intrigued, he allowed his mother to draw him into a secluded corner well out of earshot of everyone else.  
"Mark," Elaine whispered, "I really didn't want to interfere, but this has gone on quite long enough."  
Mark groaned. "Not you as well, Mother. How many times have we been over this? I'm quite as anxious as you are to have things settled, but you know Bridget. She—"  
"Mark, I'm not trying to pressure you."  
"Oh no? Because that's precisely how it sounds to me."  
"Really, Mark." Elaine smiled. "You should know me better than that."  
"I… don't understand, Mother."  
"Well, it's quite simple. Pam Jones is a dear friend, but if we don't put a stop to this nonsense about the wedding, I'm afraid there isn't going to be a wedding to fuss about."  
Catching his mother's meaning, Mark chuckled. "You're right, Mother. My legal expertise notwithstanding, I might find it difficult to go through with the marriage if my fiancé is convicted of matricide."  
"I take that to mean you have a solution?" asked Elaine.  
Mark nodded. "Yes, one I've been contemplating for quite some time. I want to do things properly this time, Mother."  
"Oh, Mark." Elaine reached out and took her son's hands in both of her own. "I don't think you have a thing to worry about," she assured him.  
"I never thought I could feel this way about anyone," said Mark, not even bothering to blink away the moisture gathering in his eyes. "I know Bridget's aversion to everything has more to do with a reaction against her mother's persistence than anything else, but just knowing we've got things settled, just knowing we can truly begin our life together…" Elaine squeezed his hand in silent understanding. "But I don't want her to feel pressured—I don't want her to feel like she's acting under an ultimatum. It's her life as much as it's mine, and I want it to start off right."  
"That reminds me. Mark, there's something I've been wanting to give you." Elaine suddenly produced a small, velvet jeweler's box which she placed in her son's hand. When he opened it, he found a delicate, gold band set with an intricate jeweled flower. Petal-shaped diamonds fanned out around a glittering, sapphire-blue gem that reminded Mark of the way Bridget's eyes sparkled when she laughed.  
"Mother," he breathed, gazing down at the trinket. "It's… lovely."  
"It belonged to my mother," Elaine said gently. "It was her engagement ring. I've kept it for you. I thought, if you hadn't found something suitable, you might like to give it to Bridget. I neglected, perhaps fortuitously it would seem, to pass it on to you when… well, in any case, I think Bridget would treasure it." Mark smiled. Even after several years had passed, and he was now planning to marry the woman he loved, his mother would never admit in so many words that she had disapproved of his first wife. That she had tactfully 'neglected' to pass a treasured heirloom onto her former daughter-in-law came as close to the admission as Elaine Darcy would ever come.  
Pocketing the ring, Mark kissed his mother's cheek. "Thank you, Mother. Bridget will love it."  
"Right. So, back to the current dilemma, then. What about this wedding business?"  
"Well," Mark sighed, "the only reason I've held my hand is because I don't want to infringe on Pam's… position. Mother of the bride, you know. However, I think Bridget will approve of the plan I have in mind, if I can pull it off, that is."  
Elaine leaned in conspiratorially. "What did you have in mind?"  
\----------  
Two days later, Mark sat behind his desk in his office, taking occasional bites of a sandwich and sipping a cup of coffee that had long since turned lukewarm. Outside his window, the sky had begun to darken, and as he endeavored to suppress the twinge of longing he had to be at home with his soon-to-be wife, Mark released a sigh of frustration; paradoxically, the woman he so longed to go home to was, at this precise moment, the reason he was to be found holed up at chambers well after the rest of his colleagues had left for the day. After confiding his plan to his mother, as well as the affectionately-dubbed "urban family," Mark had immediately begun researching the feasibility of executing the idea. He had not, however, much to his shame, accounted for Bridget's curiosity, but, he reasoned, for one so ardently in love, such a lapse in judgment was excusable under the circumstances. Fortunately Elaine, with her usual sagacity, had foreseen the problem; when Mark had taken her phone call during dinner the previous evening, he felt more like a spy engaged in a covert operation than a groom endeavoring to conceal a surprise from his bride.  
"Mother, this isn't quite—"  
"Mark, listen to me carefully," Elaine had interrupted him in a hurried whisper. "To whatever I say, simply answer 'yes' or 'no'. Do you understand?"  
"Yes," Mark had replied as instructed.  
"Good. Now. Is Bridget with you?"  
"Yes."  
"All right. You remember the conversation we had the other night at Pam and Colin's?"  
"Yes."  
"Well, it seemed to stir something in my memory, so I went and had a look through the family papers, and as it turns out, my parents were married at St. Nicholas church in Hampshire."  
"I—what?" Mark had stammered, entirely forgetting the covert wedding operation code.  
"So there shouldn't be any obstacle to you going ahead with the arrangements. Does that answer your question?"  
"I—yes, yes it does. Mother, I don't know how—"  
"I won't keep you, but I thought you might like to know. You'll let me know if I can be of any further assistance?"  
"Yes, of course, Mother."  
While Bridget hadn't quizzed Mark about the phone conversation, she had, most unfortunately, peered over his shoulder as he had pulled up several pages on the internet about Regency weddings. The resulting row, in which she had accused him of joining forces with her mother, had taken several glasses of chardonnay and every ounce of Mark's patience to diffuse. Now he sat in his otherwise deserted office, drumming his fingers on he edge of his desk as he awaited the call that he could never have taken at home without risking the plan's exposure. Not that Bridget would have disapproved, or he wouldn't have taken such pains to bring it to fruition in the first place, but he hoped to keep it a secret until he had finalized all of the details. When his mobile finally rang, he frowned at the display as he reached to answer it.  
"Sharon?"  
"Mark, I love Bridget almost as much as you do, but you owe me," came the voice of Bridget's closest friend, surprisingly sober-sounding, given that she and Jude were currently keeping Bridget company at the house to distract her.  
Mark sighed. "She's still angry with me, then?"  
"Not—not exactly," replied Sharon.  
"What did she say?"  
"Oh, just the usual; something about choosing sides and forgetting your loyalties. Sort of thing anyone might say after a few glasses of wine. Don't take it personally."  
In the pause that ensued, Mark thought he detected Bridget's voice in the background, shouting what sounded suspiciously like "blurry trader! Men all useless fuckwits!"  
"No," he said finally. "I see no reason at all to take that personally."  
"You heard that?"  
"Unfortunately, yes." Sharon groaned. "Sharon, would you do me a tremendous favor and—"  
"I'm on it, Mark. Don't worry. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I think she's had a bit too much to drink anyway."  
"Just stay with her until she's… calmed down."  
"You know I will. Honestly, Mark, I can't wait until you've got things settled. She's driving us all mad."  
"You know, Sharon, I really must give you credit. When I first suggested this to you, I braced myself for a feminist tirade about female agency."  
Sharon laughed. "You've had a lucky escape in this instance. Ordinarily I might have unleashed the wrath of Backlash on you, but In this case, I think it's going to simplify everything; if it's out of Bridget's hands, it's out of her mother's reach, as far as I'm concerned. Besides," she added, "it's not as if you're taking total control. You're just… laying the groundwork. There'll be plenty of decisions left for Bridget to make."  
"I hope you're right," said Mark. Before he could continue, he heard the tone signaling an inbound call. "Sharon, I must go. There's another call coming through, and the sooner I take it, the sooner I can get home. Thank you again, for everything."  
"You're welcome, and… Mark?"  
"Yes?"  
"Bridget is going to love you for what you're doing."  
Mark smiled and ended the call before switching to the other line. "Mark Darcy speaking."  
"Mr Darcy," said a pleasant, female voice. "This is Emily Woodhouse, an event planner with Chawtonhouse."  
"Oh, yes, Miss Woodhouse. Thank you for returning my call."  
The Miss Woodhouse in question chuckled. "Forgive me for laughing," she apologized. "But I can't help thinking that somewhere Jane Austen is smiling right now."  
Mark joined in her laughter. "Yes, I see what you mean."  
"Well," said Miss Woodhouse, turning instantly business-like, "I understand you're interested in planning a wedding, Mr Darcy."  
\----------  
Now, as they drew nearer to their destination, Mark emerged from his reverie and smiled over at Bridget, who had, not surprisingly, fallen fast asleep somewhere in the middle of the journey. Watching the mid-morning sunlight play across her face, Mark felt his heart overflowing with love for this vibrant, beautiful, whirlwind of a woman who had thrown his well-ordered universe off its axis and made him believe in the miracle of second chances. After maneuvering the car into a space, Mark reached across the seat for Bridget's hand to rouse her.  
"Bridget, love," he said gently, "we're here." Never, even if they lived to celebrate fifty years of marriage, would Mark forget the expression of wonderment that lit Bridget's face as, with eyes still half-clouded from sleep, she took in her surroundings.  
"Oh, Mark," she whispered, slipping her arms about his neck and kissing him.

Twenty minutes later, with Bridget's hand tucked in the crook of Mark's arm, the pair strolled across the sunlit grounds of the historic Chawtonhouse Library, where Jane Austen had lived, written, and revised several of her now classically famous novels.  
"Oh, Mark, this is absolutely incredible!" exclaimed Bridget. "I really needed this change of scene. What a perfect surprise."  
Mark smiled. "I thought you'd enjoy it. Remind me to make sure we pop round to see St. Nicholas church before we leave."  
"Oh, yes," agreed Bridget. "Austen's father was rector there, wasn't he?"  
"I believe so, but aside from that, I need you to have a look at it and tell me whether you think it would seat all of our guests comfortably."  
"Oh, well, I think—wait, what?" Bridget narrowed her eyes at him. "Mark, what are you talking about?"  
Mark endeavored to keep his expression neutral. "Well," he began, waving a hand at the surrounding lawn, "the south lawn can accommodate up to 200 guests; the grounds will provide plenty of photo opportunities; guests can easily stay on and play tourist for a day or so if they choose, and it occurred to me, if you're going to marry Mr Darcy, why not do it in the appropriate setting?"  
"Mark," Bridget said slowly, "You aren't serious. You can't mean—you aren't possibly suggesting we—get married… here?"  
Mark shrugged. "Well, that was the idea, yes."  
Bridget's eyes narrowed even further. "Did my mother put you up to this?" she asked.  
"Good God no!" Mark protested. For one frightening, terrible, heart-stopping moment, he feared he had miscalculated—that he hadn't thought the plan through with his usual clarity of mind—but before he could utter another word, the force of Bridget's exuberant leap nearly knocked him off his feet.  
"Mark Darcy!" she exclaimed, kissing him. "You are the sweetest—" she kissed him again—"cleverest—" a third time—"most wonderful man in the world! I love you!"  
"Well," said Mark, breathless and slightly dazed, "I'm glad the plan meets with your approval, Mrs Darcy."  
"Mmm." Bridget wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling his cheek. "I love the sound of that."  
"So do I," murmured Mark.  
"But wait." Bridget pulled back, chewing on her bottom lip as she looked up at him. "Mark, we can't—I mean, this is ridiculous. What about the cost? You can't possibly—I mean, it's lovely, but…"  
Mark squeezed her hand. "Let's not worry about that now," he said gently.  
"But Mark, you can't—I can't let you—" Bridget stammered. "And my parents. I mean, I know they wanted to… help and, how can they—it's too much, Mark. I can't let you—"  
"Sh, Bridget." Smiling, Mark laid a finger over her lips. "I'm sorry to have to nudge you out of your position at the center of the universe, but I'm not just doing this for you, you know." He wound an arm around her waist and drew her to his side again. "I'm doing this for us."  
"So this hasn't got anything to do with bribing my mother into silence?" Bridget asked, tilting her head up to peck Mark's cheek.  
"Not entirely," he replied. "Though that in and of itself makes it well worth the investment. Wouldn't you agree?"  
Bridget laughed. "Good point."  
"There's just one more order of business to complete," said Mark, withdrawing his arm from Bridget's shoulders and reaching into his pocket for the jeweler's box he had safely stowed there. He slipped the ring from its cushioned casing and dropped to one knee before Bridget. "Bridget Jones," he whispered, cradling her hand in his, "I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love anyone. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"  
Bridget's eyes filled with tears that sparkled in the sunlight. "Of course I will, Mark," she replied softly. "But… haven't I already agreed to that?"  
Mark smiled, sliding the ring onto her finger and bringing her hand to his lips before standing and embracing her. "Well, I just thought I'd… confirm the terms of our agreement. Standard legal practice."  
"Oh, Mark, it's beautiful!" exclaimed Bridget, gazing down at the ring glistening on her hand.  
"My mother gave it to me last weekend. It belonged to my grandmother," Mark explained. "I know I planned to take you to pick something out yourself, but, well, I thought it fitting that I give this to you. You see, when I first hatched this plan, the only real obstacle—aside from evading your curious mind, of course—was the difficulty of working out how we might be able to marry in this parish. Perhaps Jane Austen has it in her power to align the stars in our favor, because as luck would have it, my mother informed me that her parents were married here, at St. Nicholas. Since they rather unwittingly provided the means of overcoming the one barrier to my proceeding with the plan, I thought, for the sake of… continuity—"  
Bridget rose on her toes to kiss him. "I love it, Mark. It's absolutely perfect." As Mark reached to link Bridget's arm through his again, signaling his intention to continue their tour of the grounds, Bridget rested her hand on his. "Mark, what you said just now—about, you know, confirming the terms of the agreement and all that—you weren't, I mean—you didn't… think I was reconsidering, did you?" Seeming to correctly interpret his silence as he struggled to express what he felt, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. "Oh, Mark," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I knew you understood that I just couldn't think clearly about any of this with my mother jabbering at me every chance she got, but I never thought about how it might have made you feel. You didn't seriously think I was having second thoughts, did you?"  
Mark hesitated. "It… did cross my mind," he admitted finally.  
"I have news for you, Mark Darcy," Bridget said determinately, slipping her arm through his. "You're stuck with me for life."  
"Well," he said, squeezing her hand, "I can't say I didn't ask for it."

\---September, 2005---  
Mark gazed out at the sea of faces that swam before his eyes in a haze of congealed color and light. His chest tightened, constricting his breath, and the murmured conversation drifting through the church rose around him in a wall of sound. When he closed his eyes in an effort to calm his nerves, his mind flashed back to a similar moment several years before—Daniel at his side, laughing, joking, telling Mark it would all be over soon, not realizing, perhaps, how prophetic that statement would prove.  
"Mark?" He jolted back to awareness at the sound of his name and breathed a sigh of relief. Jeremy, not Daniel, stood beside him; Jeremy had laid a hand on his shoulder and was speaking to him—what was he saying? "Mark, are you all right? You look a bit pale."  
"I—I just—that is—yes, I'm fine. Of course I'm fine."  
"It's going to be all right, you know," said Jeremy, giving his friend's shoulder a reassuring pat.  
Mark nodded. 'It's going to be all right,' he repeated to himself. 'Don't be a bloody fool, Darcy. What's past is past. Time to make a new start.'  
"You're doing the right thing, Mark," came Jeremy's voice. Again Mark nodded, unable to speak.  
At last the first chords of the processional struck; Mark watched, still through that shimmering, dizzying haze, Magda drifting toward them; then Jude—or was it Sharon?—on Tom's arm; then Jude escorted by Giles. Then, just as Mark thought his heart would burst—"Oh!" His exclamation was masked only by the collective intake of breath of 200 others. Bridget made her way slowly and purposefully down the aisle toward him, the shining silk of her bridal gown, embroidered with delicate rosebuds, perfectly corseting her figure. Mark didn't even bother to scold himself as the teardrop diamond pendant dangling at her throat drew his eye toward the flattering expanse of cleavage above the gown's low-cut neckline. He sensed, rather than saw her eyes, partially hidden behind the veil that shaded her face, gazing directly at him as she drew nearer. At last Colin Jones handed Bridget off to Mark with a beaming smile that nearly rivaled his daughter's, blinking away tears as he squeezed her shoulders and stepped back. As Mark took her hand—how perfectly it fit within his own—Bridget raised herself on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.  
"Mark, I can't see a fucking thing through all this lace." Not trusting himself to open his lips, lest he should spoil the solemnity of the moment by laughing, Mark gently squeezed her hand.  
The service passed in a blur of ritual; vows were spoken, rings exchanged, blessings bestowed, and at last—"You may kiss the bride." Reverently Mark lifted Bridget's veil, their eyes met, and he bent to lay his lips on hers, resting his hand at the nape of her neck, then encircling her with his arm, drawing her closer, savoring the first taste of their happiness—  
"Oy!" Bride and groom broke apart as Sharon's exclamation burst through the bubble that surrounded them. "You two! Get a room!" A smattering of polite laughter followed, and several of the guests whistled. Feeling a blush creep up his neck, Mark flashed a crooked smile at Bridget, whose own cheeks were tinged a becoming pink.  
The minister cleared his throat. "I now present Mr and Mrs Darcy." Amidst the confusion of applause, cheering, and flashbulbs, Mark instinctively reached for Bridget at the precise moment she leapt into his arms. Finally releasing the laugh that had been bubbling inside him, he twirled her in a graceful circle, dropping another kiss on her lips as he set her back on her feet. Then he drew his bride's arm through his and escorted her from the church amid a shower of rice and rose-petals, into the carriage that waited to convey them to Chawtonhouse. The Joneses had arranged the transportation as a surprise for their daughter, and Bridget emitted a delighted squeal as Mark handed her inside before springing in beside her. Then, because he supposed their friends and families to be watching, but mostly because he could, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again.  
"I might be doing that a lot," he cautioned, leaning back in his seat and fixing his wife with his most intense, Darcyest stare.  
"I'm pretty sure I can find a way to deal with that," replied Bridget, reaching over to pat his hand.

Not characteristically demonstrative in his displays of affection, Mark allowed himself, with perfect equanimity, to be hugged, kissed, and shaken hands with by nearly every guest in attendance at the reception. Beside him, Bridget's smile never faltered; she even managed a perfectly polite response when Natasha, to whom Mark had extended an invitation merely out of professional courtesy, offered Bridget what they both knew to be an insincere complement on her gown. Finally Jeremy rose and endeavored to arrest the attention of the assembled guests.  
"If I could—if everyone wouldn't mind—"  
"Oy! Everyone please fucking shut up!" bellowed Sharon. Well-mannered, gentlemanly Mark Darcy winced inwardly, but marital blissed-out Mark Darcy merely shrugged. Whatever worked. Bridget smothered a giggle, but winked at her best friend.  
Once the laughter and chatter subsided, Jeremy cleared his throat. "A great authoress once wrote, 'Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.' Mark, Bridget, I think I can safely say that it's a universally acknowledged truth, at least within this room, that if any marriage has a chance of happiness, yours does, and I can think of no two people who deserve happiness more than the both of you."  
"All of us here," said Magda, beaming at the couple, "have watched your relationship grow and have witnessed the truly transformative effect that love can have when it binds two lives together. You have taught one another to trust; you have held the splinters of each other's broken hearts and recognized the beauty and resilience of the human spirit in the face of pain. You have laughed; you have cried; you have shared some dreams, and disagreed on others. In your marriage, you will undoubtedly share many more of these experiences, but with each one, may you continue to see in each other's eyes the love you find there today."  
"May you always remember," Giles chimed in, "that there is no charm equal to tenderness of the heart. May you draw from each other's strengths, and bear with patience each other's weaknesses."  
"May you challenge and encourage each other to give the best of yourselves, but always remember to love each other just as you are," added Jude.  
"May you support each other's dreams, share in each other's sorrows, and rejoice in each other's triumphs," said Sharon. "And," she added, smirking at Bridget, "may you remember that sharing the responsibilities of marriage goes beyond helping with the washing up."  
"May you admire and love one another more ardently with each passing day," concluded Tom, "and most importantly, may you think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure and look to the future with hope."  
All six friends then raised their glasses as one. "To Mark and Bridget, who we love, just as they are."  
Through a blur of tears, Mark met Bridget's eyes as the assembled wedding guests echoed the toast.  
"I don't suppose Mr Darcy would allow himself to be caught shedding unmanly tears at his nuptials," he said shakily.  
"Oh yes he fucking would," Bridget replied defiantly, smothering his laugh with her kiss.

The End

Links

  
1\. I borrowed the title of this story from [Marrying Mr Darcy, the Card Game ](http://www.marryingmrdarcy.com), which I haven't bought yet, but plan to. Check it out if you're inclined!  
2\. For information about Chawtonhouse Library, visit [Chawton.org](http://www.chawton.org)  
3\. For information about the village of Chawton, visit [Chawton.info](http://www.chawton.info)  
4\. For information about the Church of St. Nicholas, visit [Chawton Village History](http://www.chawton.info/Village-History/st-nicholas-church-chawton.html)  
5\. For information about guidelines for marrying in a parish other than one's own in the Church of England, visit [Yourchurchwedding.org ](http://www.yourchurchwedding.org)


End file.
